


Every Day You Play

by applejackcat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejackcat/pseuds/applejackcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You told me you needed a caretaker for your rather large estate.” Belle French meets his gaze boldly. “You cannot imagine I mistook your meaning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day You Play

When Nicholas Gold tells his pretty maid, “I do not understand,” he speaks to the growing number of mysteries swirling in her wake.

He does not understand why, the first time that he met her, he could not calm himself until he read Pablo Neruda’s entire canon. He does not understand how he can want so much for such a small slip of a woman when the sum total of their relationship amounts to a handful of chance encounters around town. He does not understand why his wicked, traitor heart struggles so fiercely against the tines and cables he has used to fix it in its pace whenever she draws near.

He does not understand why he would forgive her layabout father’s considerable debt in exchange for her unskilled labor as a maid. For a man who wields as much power as he does, Gold creates very little mess. What will she _do_ all day while he tinkers in his pawnshop? Lounge about in silken robes as she works her way through the books in his library?

But most of all, when Nicholas Gold tells his pretty maid, “I do not understand,” means to tell her that he cannot fathom why he has found her in his bed, naked and flushed, clutching what appears, gods have mercy, to a copy of the Kama Sutra against her quivering bosom. 

“You told me you needed a caretaker for your rather large estate.” Belle French meets his gaze boldly. “You cannot imagine I mistook your meaning.”

Gold gestures to his opulent bedroom, one of six spread throughout his mansion. He’d admits that even moments before he didn’t know exactly how to utilize Belle, but bleeding hell, how can she think he’d meant  _that_? Only Pablo Neruda soothes the ache she set in him. Belle must realize that if he’d meant to lure her to his bed, he would have intimated as much by lassoing the moon for her?

Tentatively, Belle spreads her creamy, generous thighs. 

Gold considers, for a moment, turning on his heel and abandoning this wee Botticelli nymph in favor of a stiff glass a whiskey. Let her sort herself out and find her way back to her own bedroom.

And yet. 

Earlier, when Belle accepted offer of employment and her father nearly induced an aneurysm shouting her down, she told him, “Nobody decides my fate but me.” She thought he wanted her in his bed, and she followed him willingly from her father’s shop.  

_ Fuck turning down an offer like that. _

Gold waits long enough for Belle to expose her delicate curls and soft pink folds to him. She smiles proudly when he curses, and she lowers the Kama Sutra slowly, revealing small firm breasts and nipples as dainty as tiny pearls. He eyes the sex manual and wonders, for a moment, how much time Belle expects him to devote to this part of her job.

He wants to ask her. 

But then Belle dips a trembling hand between her thighs, and she strokes herself softly; then, with more pressure, her fingers dance around her swollen clitoris. And Gold understands what a mistake it would be to interrupt her. 

So he puts his mouth to better use. 

Belle nearly kicks him in the face when he presses a soft kiss to her sweet, sensitive bud. Gold lingers there, inhaling her musky scent, delighting in her attempts not to squirm and beg. 

“I — You should know, that feels absolutely amazing,” Belle babbles, her voice growing husky with arousal. 

Gold smirks and circles her clitoris slowly with his tongue. “I’ve hardly done a thing.” He allows the guttural intonations of his Scottish brogue to send small vibrations shooting through Belle’s plump mons. She arches ever so slightly and manages to stimulate herself even more. 

“Is it bad, for me to be this turned on? I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Don’t you dare,” Gold growls, and Belle keens for him. “When we’re done, my dear, I intend to thoroughly acquaint you with Pablo Neruda.”

Belle sighs happily, a woman on the edge of coming undone. “I want to do with you what the spring does with the cherry trees,” she murmurs, and her murmur becomes a wail when Gold fastens his mouth over her womanhood and sets to worshipping her as best he can, chanting an internal, eternal litany of,  _‘You are here. Oh, you do not run away.’_

In the peaceful aftermath of their love making, having managed to travel from Gold’s bedroom to the one originally intended for Belle, they lay together, a boneless heap of bliss.

“I rather think I like that  _too much_ ,” Belle observes sleepily. 

Gold chuckles. “One cannot like  _that_  too much,” he promises her. “But if you’d like to test that hypothesis, give me a few hours and I will  _gladly_ volunteer my assistance.”

He cups her dear face with one hand and gently combs her thick chestnut hair with the fingers of the other. He startles when he notices the tip of a thick black line peaking over the curve of her slim shoulder. Belle laughs merrily as he hastily flips her over, realizing in the same breath that he had not bothered to look at his lover’s back as he took her — when he thinks of remedying  _that_  particular oversight, his cock stirs hopefully — and that Belle French would never cease to amaze him. 

She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders: an intricately outlined map of the world stretching from one blade to the other. Splashes of color fill two countries, Australia and the United States, leaving the rest of the tattoo looking unconquered. 

“I want to see the world,” Belle tells him breathlessly. “I paid a stupid amount of money to get this tattoo. I promised myself, the next time I spent as much, it would be to have an adventure, to fill in more blank spaces. I want to conquer cities and chase the sunrise across the globe.”

Gold’s spirits lift. He can offer Belle this endless adventure. They can fill in the map one country at a time, until her back shimmers with color and he holds the world when they make love. Each new city will loosen a tine holding his heart in check, each new sunrise will slice a cable. 

No, Gold reflects sleepily, drawing Belle closer to him. He understands now. He never intended for Belle to clean. 


End file.
